13 Going On 30
by timedowls
Summary: AU from the movie of the same title. Clint's 13th birthday party is a disaster. He wishes that he could have the perfect life. Bruce/Clint. I'm sorry this is horribly written.
1. Chapter 1

They'd been neighbors their whole lives, it was obvious that they'd be best friends.

They complimented each other nicely. Bruce was on the chubby side. He liked science and The Talking Heads and plenty of obscure bands that he'd gotten from Loki Laufeyson on a mix tape. He couldn't keep his dark curls to stay out of his face and falling into his eyes. Clint was loud and energetic. He was an athlete, but not in the 'cool' way like Steve Rogers, Captain of the football team, no, he was on the archery squad. Bruce thought that was the coolest sport around.  
The two were inseparable. Bruce would help Clint with his homework while Clint would give Bruce advice on how to talk to girls (which, didn't even work for Clint).

Clint admired Bruce, and Bruce loved Clint. They were the dynamic duo. Friends Forever and always.

* * *

"Hey Hawk!" a voice called down from the school hallway. Bruce and Clint, who had congregated by their lockers, turned their heads at the nickname to be face to face with Tony Stark, rich kid and king of the school. "Banner", Stark said, ignoring the other part of the duo, as always.  
"Hi Tony" Clint said with an energetic smile.  
"I'm sorry I won't be able to make it to your party tonight, I have to write that dumb paper for Coulson's History class. It's really depressing because I know that Natasha was saying she wanted to come."  
"Natasha?" Clint's eye's widened at the thought of the young, attractive, red headed 13 year old at his party. Bruce just rolled his eyes, his friend was hopeless.  
"Yeah," Tony continued, "but, seeing has how I have to write that paper instead, and I was going to give Natasha a ride, it's a no-go. Unless-"  
"I'll write your paper for you!" Clint offered up before the other boy could continue his sentence.  
Bruce rolled his eyes again. Tony Stark was a genius, he could write the paper in seconds, he was just extremely lazy.  
"Alright then." Tony replied with a sly smile. "See you later then." He added before turning and walking away.

"Natasha, Bruce! Natasha!" Bruce let out a sigh and watched as his friend bounced happily on his heels, his mind already gone in a world where him and the red head were holding hands, or kissing, or whatever it is that couples do.  
They were walking home from school like they did every afternoon. The blond haired boy still swooning about the older girl coming to his birthday party.

"Yeah, I know, you've been talking about her all day. Maybe she'll kiss you." Bruce said, like his mouth was on autopilot. His friend had a crush on the older girl for years. Bruce didn't want to let his friend down and let it seem like he had no hope for the shorter boy. He pushed his own emotions aside once more.

* * *

"I hope!" Clint said as he started off towards his house, while Bruce went to his. "See you tonight!" he called across their lawns, letting his hand raise up to wave to the other. "Arrivederci!"  
Bruce happily let out an "Au Revoir"

"Clint?" Bruce called as he entered the Barton household, kicking the front door open since his hands busy carrying a rather large box.

He heard music coming from the basement, moving towards the steps, carefully trying to to slip and fall and drop the contents of the box he was holding all over the floor.

Has he moved downwards, he saw his friend in the corner of the room, rocking out to a song on MTV, using all the 'radical' air guitar moves that Bruce had shown him.

"You're an idiot." Bruce called with a laugh as Clint saw him and stopped what he was doing, a blush creeping softly on his cheeks.

"What's in the box?" Clint asked curiously, coming over to help his friend set the package down on the table.  
"Just your birthday present. It's not everyday a boy turns 13!"  
Clint didn't reply, he just tore into the badly wrapped package, only becoming cautious when he pulled out what was inside.  
"It's not much," Bruce started, "but, I think you'll find use for it."  
"Bruce..." Clint, for once, was speechless. "Did you make these?"

In Clint's had was a small quiver which held an array of handmade arrows of all different shapes and sizes.  
"My dad helped me a little bit, but yeah, I did. And here-" Bruce said, pulling something out of his pocket. "Wishing dust. I know it's cheesy, but everyone deserves at least one wish on their birthday."  
He opened the packet, pouring it into his hand and blowing softly so that the dust landed on the top of the arrows. "Now every time you use one, you can have another wish."  
Clint didn't speak for what seemed like minutes. Bruce watched as his eyes traveled over the length of each different arrow, his fingertips grazing over the point of the arrowhead. It took all the strength he had in his teenage mind to not think of something dirty in such an important moment as this.  
He was pulled out of his thoughts quickly as his friend started to speak again.  
"They're perfect! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The younger boy said, placing the present back in the box softly before tackling his friend to the group in a hug. "You're seriously the-"  
His words were cut off by his doorbell being rung over and over by an impatient Tony Stark and friends.  
"They're here!" Clint exclaimed as he got off Bruce, grabbing the package and moving it to the closet. "I'm going to put these in here so they don't get ruined!"  
"Ok." Bruce just stood their awkwardly, not knowing what to do as he watched his friend move across the room in a frantic panic making sure all the food was set up and that everything looked perfect to impress his "friends".

Bruce continued to stand there, still unsure of what to do until Clint walked back downstairs from answering the door with Tony, Thor Odinson, Steve Rogers, and then Natasha and her friends Pepper Potts and Maria Hill. He knew that this party was going to be a disaster already.  
-

"Let's play a game..." Tony piped up after the first disastrous hour of the party's life. The 8 teenagers stood awkwardly around the Barton basement, expressions changing with Tony's expression. The 6 guests looked to each other with grins on their faces. Bruce noticed instantly. He did not want to take part in this mess, and excused himself to the bathroom.  
"Let's play seven minutes in heaven. Clint, you get to go first because you're the birthday boy." Tony said as he walked over to the blond, pulling one of Mrs. Barton's scarves that hung on the coatrack by the food table. As he tied the blindfold around Clint's eyes and led him towards the closet, he spoke in a soft whisper. "Natasha want's to go first." Clint let in a small gasp and hoped that Tony didn't hear it. "She really likes you, she says she's been waiting to kiss you forever." Tony continued as set Clint down in the closet. "No peaking and Natasha will be here in a few seconds." The sly teen said, closing the door behind him.  
"Come on, let's go" Tony whispered to his friends as they grabbed what food and drinks they could before heading up the stairs.  
"What's going on?" Bruce asked as he came back down.  
"Clint's, uh, waiting in the closet." Tony said simply, not giving any more of an explanation before he left with the rest of his giggling friends. Those bastards. How could they take advantage of such a sweet and innocent person like Clint who trusted everyone?  
He decided the best thing to do was to get his friend out of the closet, and spend the rest of the boy's birthday eating the food that was left and watching Top Gun like they always did.

Clint sat, waiting for what felt like hours, but he knew were only seconds, he was counting in his head. He couldn't keep his hands still, he was too excited.  
He heard the door open, and let a smile creep onto his lips.  
"Hey." Clint said cooly, as if he was trying to impress who he thought was Natasha.  
Bruce smiled. Clint was a dork, but he was adorable. It didn't take him long to realize that he'd had feelings for his best friend, but they were feelings that would ruin his friendship and that was more important than a stupid little crush.  
"Where are you?" Clint asked, reaching out his hands, hoping to latch his fingers on to another pair.  
Bruce didn't even think, he just reached out his own hands to grasp Clint's.  
Fuck it. He was too caught up in the moment. He would kiss his best friend. He knew that Clint' would just laugh it off, punch him lightly on the arm and say, "Don't be a loser".  
He started leaning in, taking in the familiar scent of the other boy that made him feel relaxed at at home. His heart was racing, he didn't care...and then it happened.  
"Natasha."

It's as if Bruce's whole world instantly fell apart. He knew who Clint had been expecting, yet he still hoped that somehow the other would know whose hands he was holding.  
"It's not Natasha! It's Bruce!"  
Clint instantly yanked the scarf from around his eyes. "What? Where is everyone else? Where is Natasha?"  
"They're gone, everyone left! I told you they weren't really your friends! I told you this party would be a disaster!"  
"This is all your fault" Clint yelled.  
"How is this my fault!"  
"They think you're a nerd, they don't associate with people like you! I shouldn't have invited you!"  
Bruce was hurt, his heart had broken into more pieces.  
"You're turning on me, your best friend, because you want to be excepted by Tony Stark and his ignorant friends! I can't believe you Clint. What the hell!"  
"Get out, I hate you! I hate you!"  
Bruce did what he was told. He didn't want to be around Clint right now. The boy was being stupid, he was letting his feelings for some girl get in the way. Bruce was always the one out of the two who had problems controlling his anger, but he didn't want to hurt Clint the way the blond was hurting him right now.  
Clint, who was acting like a small child, ran back into the closet, locking himself in there. Away from the world and away from his friend (former friend?).  
"I wish I was popular like Stark. I wish I had the girl and that my life was perfect."  
He closed his eyes, and leaned back, his head hitting the shelf behind him.  
He didn't know it, but the wishing dust shifted and caught in the air, falling down and landing right on top of his head.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint woke up disoriented.

He felt as though he'd slept for years but he just couldn't figure out where he was. It was if he'd woken up in some dream that he couldn't explain.

Earlier that morning he'd fallen out of bed, not onto the ugly beige carpet of his room but onto hardwood floors. The fall had startled him, and the cool flooring made him shiver. He crawled around the floor, his head dizzy from hitting it against the wood, trying to find the door. Once he located the handle he pulled the door open quickly, getting to his feet, his eyes filled with confusion.

This was not his house.

He called out for his parents.

No reply.

He called out for his brother, Barney.

Still, no reply.

He wandered down the hallway, still confused as to where he was. He stopped once he was faced with the living room. It was large, filled with expensive furniture. There was a large window that looked out into the city. He could tell that the apartment was very, very, very high up from the ground. Unlike most people, Clint was not afraid of heights and knowing how far up from the ground he was made him feel safe. Bruce liked to joke that since he was a hawk he'd build a nest up as far as he could go.

Bruce.

Clint's stomach filled with guilt. He said all those horrible and nasty things to him, how could his friend ever forgive him...if Bruce was still his friend.

Turning away from the window he spotted a wooden case with trophies, photos, and awards all won from archery competitions and they all had his name written across them in gold lettering.

They were his, he earned them.

This was his apartment, he lived here.

The glass on the case sent back a reflection. It took Clint a couple minutes to recognize the face that was looking back at him. To be honest, it scared him half to death. It was him but only older. He couldn't say how much older, but he wanted to say late twenties He had the same blue eyes and the same dark blond hair. But, there were a lot of things that were different. For one, his arms were more muscular and well built and he had a tattoo of four thin circles wrapping around his skin and going up his right arm. There were a few wrinkles under his eyes starting to form, and he apparently, had not grown very tall at all. Although this new image was very strange, he had to admit that his older self was very handsome.

Still, he was confused and he had no idea how he was going to find out what was going on. He needed to sit down before his head imploded from all the racing thoughts in his brain.

He didn't know how long he sat on the brown leather couch, that he apparently could afford, with his head in his hands. He had come to the conclusion that he was scared, that he missed his parents and his brother, but most importantly, his missed his dorky best friend.

Buuzzzt.

Buuuzzzt.

Clint's head shot straight up at the sound of something buzzing.

Was he finally going insane from this nightmare? Was something on fire?

No, a smoke detector wouldn't buzz you idiot.

He got up from where he was sitting, relocating back to the ground to crawl around once more and try to locate the sound of the buzzing.

When he reached the source he was standing in his kitchen holding a small telephone. The top flipped open, revealing a number pad and a screen. Was this a cellphone? Modern day technology he assumed. He liked the device. It was a lot better than carrying around the cellphone's he'd seen in movies from when he was a kid. He liked that they were smaller and that they weren't as heavy. He wondered if everyone had phones like this, or if it was still a luxury for only those who had money. Then again, even if that were so, Clint looked like he had a very well paying job and that he could afford anything he wanted.

He didn't even realize that someone was talking until he was pulled out of his thoughts by someone screaming his name.

"Hello?" He said cautiously, pulling the phone up to his ear.

"Jesus Christ, Clint, what the hell are you doing, get downstairs, we're going to be fucking late."

"Late for what?" he asked. If he was going to live in this new reality he needed to at least know what he was getting himself into.

"Are you serious right now, this has been planned for months now. Just get dressed and come down here, I'm not waiting all god damn day."

There as a click and Clint realized that the person had hung up.

He decided that he might as well get dressed and meet this person for whatever they were already late for.

"What are you wearing?"

Clint looked up as he exited his building. He turned his attention to the man that was talking to him. He had dark hair, and a very well trimmed beard. He was wearing a tailored suit and had expensive looking sunglasses perched on top of his nose. Clint looked down at what he was wearing and realized that he was very underdressed compared to the man in front of him. He assumed that where they were going was not the place for a black T-shirt, leather jacket, dark jeans, and a pair of combat boots.

"Sorry." he muttered, keeping his eyes towards the ground.

"No, it's fine, it's not like they're going to expect you in anything else. You haven't worn a god damn suit in ages. Get in." The man said, motioning towards the open car door.

Obviously, Clint and this man were acquaintances. That made him feel a little better about getting into the sleek black car. His fears about being kidnapped and killed were pushed far back into his mind as he sighed and got into the car.

The man followed suit, getting in and slamming the door firmly behind him.

"Drive, Jarvis!"

"Where are we going?" Clint asked curiously, turning to the man. He wanted to ask him his name, but he felt that if he did that the other man would be upset.

"What happened to you last night? Are you hungover? Did you and Nat have such a wild screw that you can't remember a thing?"

Nat, who was Nat and why was he having sex with her? Was she his girlfriend, his wife, just a friend?

"I'm just a bit hungover." Clint lied, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Jesus, man. As your best friend I ask to please, invite me to all your crazy parties."

Best friend. This man was his best friend and he wasn't Bruce.

All his fear came back. His stomach felt sick and his head was spinning.

How was he supposed to live in this new world without Bruce by his side. Was it his fault that they weren't friends anymore? Did they go to separate colleges and just move in different directions, losing contact over the years. Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"Mr. Stark, we're here." The driver let out as he pulled the car over.

Mr. Stark? He was best friend with Tony Stark.

Tony rushed opened the car door quickly, pulling Clint along after him.

"Repeat after me" Tony said, stopping in front of the building before he opened the door. "I'm Clint Barton, world famous archery gold medalist turned head sniper agent for S.H.E.I.L.D."

S.H.E.I.L.D.?

When Bruce and him were younger, they'd pretend to be military operatives working for the law enforcement unit. Bruce would pretend to be the head of the agency, locating the criminals, and using the evidence to help Clint, who would sit up in his tree house with his bow and pretend to shoot them from above. They'd communicate through walkie-talkies and use toys as their targets. Sometimes, Betty, the girl who lived across the street from them, would come over and play. She always wanted to be the attractive spy who tricked the convicts into coming with her to the exact spot where Clint would be able to shoot them.

Wow. S.H.E.I.L.D.

Clint seemed to be getting caught in his thoughts a lot lately. He realized he was letting his mouth hang open in surprise. "I-I am?" He let out.

"Yes, now say it"

"I am Clint Barton. World famous archery gold medalist turned head sniper agent for S.H.E.I.L.D." He repeated, a bit more spark in his voice.

"I'm one tough son of a bitch" Tony continued

Oh, his mom slapped him once when he cursed subconsciously after slamming his hand in a kitchen drawer. He vowed to never do it again, but, she wasn't here and he was a grown man.

"I'm one tough son of a...bitch." Clint repeated again.

"I'm going to walk into that office, not take shit from anyone, and give my proposal to Fury before he has an aneurism over the destruction of the unit."

Clint repeated the last portion with a lot more confidence. Tony slapped his hand over Clint's shoulders, and started walking them both through the doors. "Good. And remember, invite me to your parties next time. I'm hurt."

As the two walked into the buildings everyone was greeting them. Clint felt bad because he didn't know any of their names. Tony just ignored them and kept walking until they were in a large conference room. Well dressed agents sat all around, there were two open seats with their name on them. He followed Tony, and sat down after he did, pulling off his jacket and placing it on the chair behind him.

"Mr. Barton, is there anything else you need from me?"

A female voice said next to him. He didn't even notice her as she placed a coffee on the table for him. She was skinny, but had a little more weight on her than other women. Sh had brunette hair that was curly and it seemed as if she couldn't control it. She reminded him of his childhood friend. She seemed scared of him, like she'd been yelled out multiple times previously for just doing her job. If she was his assistant, he must have been the one to hurt her that badly. He didn't know her name, so he just said "no thank you." The woman looked startled at the sudden use of manners. "Wait!" Clint said, reaching out to grab her arm as she turned to walk away. "I do have something. I need you to find someone for me." He looked around, searching for something to write with. Spotting the napkin his assistant brought with his coffee, and a pen behind her ear. "Can I borrow that?" he asked pointing to the pen. The woman shook her head yes, reaching up and pulling the writing utensil from behind her ear, handing it over to him.

Quickly, he wrote down 'Bruce Banner. 431-555-1232'

"Finally nice of you two to show up." An African American man said as he walked through the door to the conference room. "I'm glad that we could all work around your schedule. If you haven't noticed, the unit is in danger of being taken over by some fucking low life criminal. Jessica, get out."

Clint watched his assistant nod to the man and then leave the room swiftly, the piece of paper with Bruce's number held firmly in her hand.

"Whose that?" Clint whispered to Tony.

"How much did you drunk? Never mind. That's Nick Fury, he's the director of this entire unit." Tony whispered back.

Clint was very intimidated by this man, although, he figured that he shouldn't be. He had an eyepatch and wore a long black leather trench coat. He cursed a lot more than Tony did, and screamed a lot more too. "You're the only one in this room he trusts more than himself." Tony added before straightening back up to sit correctly.

"Barton!"

Clint looked up at his name being called by Director Fury.

"Yes, sir?"

"I heard that you were going to propose how we were going to get rid of this puny little asshole seeing as you've been following him and watching him for weeks."

Clint didn't know what to say. Who was he following? Who were they trying to get rid of?

"Sir," Tony started. "Loki Laufeyson has figured out we're watching him. We're setting up decoys, trying to get him in any position we can before we can kill him. The weapons I'm building, well, he's found out what they are and he's found out how to detour them. He also knows that Clint is the one who is going to be the one to do the honors. He's trying to catch the Hawk so that he can kill him instead."

Clint was a target for murder by Loki Laufeyson? The quiet, dark haired boy who Bruce had become friends with when he moved into their neighborhood in the third grade? Who sat with them at lunch until, he figured all of High School, but he couldn't remember anything after 8th grade. This same kid was trying to take over S.H.I.E.L.D. the strongest military unit in the United States, maybe even the world. He was trying to take over the world?

"Well then, it seems as if you two assholes have fucked up the mission that you were assigned to do, now doesn't it?"

Clint started to raise his hand before he was cut off by Fury. "That was a rhetorical question!"

"Barton, do you have any idea what you can do instead of getting yourself killed?"

All eyes turned on him, as if he was going to give the option that would save not only his life, but everyone in this room's lives.

Instead of suggesting a new plan, the words that came out of his mouth were. "I think I'm going to throw up."

Pulling his jacket off the chair he ran out of the office, bile creeping up into his stomach, whatever was in his stomach coming up. He felt sick because of Bruce. He felt sick because he didn't know what to do when this was his job. He felt sick because some guy was out to kill him, and apparently he had the chance to kill him before and he didn't do it.

Trying to find the bathroom, he ran into a room that was his office. The sign on the front had his name on it. Opening the door he was faced with a room that looked almost like his own house, but instead there was a desk and a computer instead of a couch and a television.

Closing the door, he leaned against it. Swallowing down whatever was working it's way up, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his nerves. This was all too much for one day.

Someone was knocking on his office door. He turned around quickly and pulled it open with as much speed. His assistant was on the other side. Startled, she jumped before regaining her composure and getting back to work. "Here are your morning messages." She said, handing over a few slips of paper. "Also, I found that man you were looking for."

"Bruce?"

Clint pulled his door open wider, pulling the woman inside the office.

She looked flustered, surprised as to how her boss was acting this morning.

"Yes," she started "the number you wrote down was his parents. I told them that I was with the U.S. Government and that he was in some trouble."

"You liked to the Banner Family?"

What could Mr. and Mrs. Banner possibly be thinking. Bruce would never be in trouble with the Government. He was to nice and kind, polite, truthful. The only thing he could possibly be in trouble with would be if he created something horrible with science, but, Clint couldn't see that happening.

"Sorry? Anyways, he lives on the other side of town. 27 West Rosemont st."

Clint didn't even have time to register what his body was doing. He rushed out of his office, grabbing his jacket and running as fast as he could down the hallway.


	3. Chapter 3

'Banner. Banner. Banner." Clint said aloud, looking for his friends last name on a sheet underneath the call box for an apartment building. Finding the name, he pressed the button that the named was assigned, number 4.

"Yeah?"

"Hi, It's Clint and I'm looking for Bruce. I don't know if you remember me but I remember you and everything is really weird right now, but if you're there, please, I need to speak to you." The box was cutting in and out. Clint could hear a lot of static coming from his end.

"Hel-Hello? I didn't hear any of that. If you're bringing me Shawarma buzz twice, if not I'm really not interested, sorry."

Clint pressed his finger down on the button as quickly as he could, ringing twice before he heard the sound of the buzzer letting him into the building. He pushed the front door open, running up the steps to try and find apartment 2B. He knocked loud and forcefully, standing back and moving out of the way when the door opened just a crack, the chain lock keeping it from being opened all the way.

"You're not Middle Eastern?"

"Bruce?" Clint asked in awe.

"Yeah?" Bruce replied hesitantly.

"Wow, you look different." Clint admired, looking at his friend and how he'd grown. Bruce had lost all the weight he had as a child, his hair was shorter, but he could still see the curls. He had just the right amount of muscle on him, and in all honesty, he looked good. There was just the small tiny part of Bruce that looked tired and worn out, like he'd worked too hard in his 30 years of life.

"Sorry?" Bruce said, still peaking through the open portion of the door.

"You don't remember me?" Clint asked, his voice revealing hints of sadness. "Oh man, this is weird because yesterday you were there, except it wasn't yesterday because I'm not thirteen!" Clint rambled, getting flustered and rubbing a hand through his hair.

"Clint?" Bruce asked.

"Yes!" Clint looked up from where he was staring at the floor, his mind racing. Bruce didn't sound happy to see him, in fact, he sounded hesitant to even finish this conversation.

"Clint Barton?"

"Yes! Bruce, it's me!"

Clint didn't even have time to register the fact that Bruce had shut his door in the other male's face. He could hear the clicks and movements of Bruce moving the locks and started to turn away. If Bruce didn't want to see him, and shut the door in his face, then he must of done something to hurt the other boy so brutally.

The door swung back open, and Clint spun back around, eagerly moving in to hug his friend. Clint kept telling himself that Bruce did want to see him.

"Come on in." Bruce said, flatly.

As Clint moved away from him, Bruce noticed how his old friend grew. He'd seen him when he'd watch the olympics on television, but only during the opening ceremonies... he'd always skipped over the archery competitions. Clint had aged well. He was handsome and lean, and Bruce realized that he shouldn't be thinking this way about Clint anymore.

As the two moved into his living room, Clint spoke up, taking in all the machines, papers on the walls with formulas written all over them, cases filled with liquids in an array of colors. In the corner there was a large wooden shelf with a turntable and stereo, just as many cds and records as science equipment propped up on the shelves. Besides the mess of Bruce's experiments, the apartment was clean and well furnished.

"So, you're still messing with science?" Clint hoped that didn't come out sounding rude. He didn't want Bruce to feel like he was mocking him in any way.

"Not as much as I would like." He started, "I'm a Chemistry professor now. Anyways, Clint, what are you doing here?

Clint could feel his heart breaking just a bit. His face turned to an expression of hurt as he started to explain. "Something really weird is happening and I don't know what it is. Yesterday, it was my thirteenth birthday, and this morning I woke up and I was this...and you're, you're that!"

"Are you on drugs?" Bruce started, and Clint felt like he was going to throw up. This was not how he expected Bruce to act. " Are you smoking pot, shooting up the big H, snorting blow?"

"No I'm not on drugs!" Clint defended himself, watching as bruce stood back, waiting for an explanation of why his old friend was acting so extremely delusional.

"I was sitting in my closet, and then, it's like, I woke up and skipped everything. Bruce, I can't remember my life. I need you to help me remember my life!"

"I can't help you with that..." Bruce started, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

"Why not?" Clint asked in a hushed tone, as though if he didn't say it loud enough it wouldn't be true.

"I don't know anything about you," Bruce started, his voice filled with annoyance, "I haven't seen you since High School. We're not friends anymore Clint, alright?

"Bruce, you're my best friend!"

"No..." Bruce said softly, watching Clint's facial expression change into complete terror. Bruce felt as if he could hear the other male's heart breaking into a thousand pieces.

Clint started to move, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He started to feel hot, as if he was going to faint.

"Sit down." Bruce said, motioning towards the stool behind where Clint was standing.

"Is it hot in here?" Clint said, starting to take of his jacket.

Bruce noticed the other's arms, they were...perfect. He saw the tattoo and thought about what it could possibly mean. Shaking the thought from his head quickly he realized now was really not the time to be admiring the archer. "I'll open the window, would you like a glass of water?"

"Yeah, and I need my bow."

Bruce didn't know what to do for Clint as he moved to open the window and then retreated into the kitchen to get the blond a glass of water. When they were small children, Clint would often have panic attacks after his father was killed in a car accident. Instead of Clint turning to a security blanket or a stuffed animal, Clint would instead hold the wooden bow his father had carved for him, caressing the soft and smooth wood. After a few years, Clint stopped having panic attacks (except for when his mother got remarried). Bruce had no idea how he was going to calm his old friend down, yet, the last words he muttered made Bruce realize that something was really wrong.

"I don't-I don't know how I'm going to get you your bow so I found this old wooden craft stick maybe you can pretend it's an arrow or something." Bruce said as he rushed back into the room, water sloshing out of the cup, the stick in his other hand. He was going to have an anxiety attack just trying to calm Clint down. The sitting male took the two offerings graciously, sipping from the water fast at first, but slowly after Bruce warned him to slow down. He placed the cup on the table next to him, as his fingers trailed up and down the stick. He felt silly, and he knew he looked silly, but, believe it or not, it helped him.

"Are you alright?" Bruce said as he moved to pull up another chair next to Clint.

Clint sighed, shaking his head to signal that yes, he was alright. Bruce knew differently.

"Hawk," Bruce started, hoping the old nickname would allow Clint to calm down completely. "I think you should go back home now. I'll help you find it." Clint shook his head alright. Maybe Bruce would explain why they weren't friends anymore on the walk back. Maybe Bruce, being the genius he is, would try and figure out what was happening to him.

"Our lives went separate ways after High School. I went to college and you were doing your archery thing. Even then, we stopped talking after we got out of middle school."

"What, why?" Clint asked as the two moved down the street towards Clint's apartment.

"After your party, and you told me you hated me, you proceeded to throw the present I'd spent all the time working on for you at me, missing my head by only inched. I left, and then you became friends with Tony and his crowd over that summer, and, well, we just stopped talking. Is this you?" Bruce asked as they stopped in front of a ridiculously snobby looking apartment building. "Yeah," Clint sighed contently as he nodded to the doorman who opened the door for them both. "Alright, well, it was nice seeing you." Bruce said as he started to walk away.

"You're not coming in?" Clint asked, his voice filled with sadness again.

Bruce couldn't stand the look on his friends face. He couldn't leave him like this, when he looked so vulnerable and alone. He smiled at the smaller male, before walking back over and into Clint's apartment building behind him.

Once in Clint's apartment, the blond immediately went to look for his High School year book. Finding the one from his senior year, he began looking through it, occasionally letting out a 'wow' or an 'oh man'. Bruce paced around the large apartment, looking at all the awards and the pictures on the walls, replying yep to Clint's questions when he needed to.

"I was Prom King!"

"Yep."

"And I went with Natasha Romanoff!"

"Yep."

"I was friends with Tony, and Steve, and Thor."

"Yeah, you pretty much controlled their little gang."

"Wow," Clint said with disbelief. "I can't believe I got everything I ever wanted."

"Yeah, Clint, you have it all." Bruce said starting to get annoyed again. With Clint's talking, and now his phone ringing, Bruce's headache would return. "That's your phone."

Clint rummaged through his pockets, trying to find the small cellular phone.

"Hello?" He said, once he found it and flipped it open, placing it to his ear and waiting for the person on the other end to start speaking.

"BARTON!" Director Fury screamed at him. Clint had to hold the phone away from his ear to make sure that he didn't go deaf. "Barton, where are you? You think just because you're a top dog in this unit that means you can come and go when ever you please? I don't think so. Get your ass back to the office now because it's Maria's birthday, so we're celebrating with cake."

Clint was surprised, yet, he let out a small chuckle (the first time he'd laughed all morning) as he hung up the phone. He expected Fury to yell at him and tell him he'd been fired or something, but instead, Fury wanted him to come eat cake? He thought that the unit was under attack, was there really that much time to celebrate a birthday?

"I have to get back to the office. I work for S.H.E.I.L.D. now." Clint said as he closed the yearbook and hoped off the stool at his kitchen counter. He wasn't sure if he could tell Bruce what he did for the unit, but he was pretty sure that the other male knew what he was doing there from their time spent together as children.

"Yeah, I should probably get back to my place as well...papers to grade and what not." Bruce said, heading towards the door with Clint following behind him.

Once they were out of the building they moved in two separate directions. Clint couldn't help himself as the words slipped from his mouth. "Arrivederci"

Bruce turned back, stopping to look at the archer. "Bye, Clint." He said with a smile.

"Bruce, say it!" Clint called, letting a smile form on his lips.

"Au revoir."

Bruce was getting into deep shit and he knew it.


End file.
